Friday, 25 February 2011

I had chills...

John Travolta was not an actor, he was a singer trailing number ones across a Top of the Pops video.

I was in a queue to the cinema about to get my fill of Summer Lovin', with other teens. I was getting chills amongst a peer group of both male and female equation and a charge of hormones were getting hot.
Now my chills, as the decades passsed, are calmed by a hot water bottle and a cup of cocoa.

My boy is Goth, son of D&D of the tribe Emo. My teenager is blazing a trail in the darkness to the sound track of jingly jangly chains, although "jingly jangly" is not exactly an Emo friendly word like "Thor" - God of the Underworld that we call Thunder.

Call me a Seer but my boy is unlikely to get chills unless its Halloween, it is a full moon and the neck looks a likely source of blood to be sucked by a vampire and the radiator has an air lock.

But I am wrong there are Fee-Goths, daughter of D&D of the tribe Fee-Emo and by Thor himself, very pretty under the makeup. And by Thor himself is that a hicky from the Vampire-ette.

By the rock Gods of my youth, I am wrong.

Sunday, 13 February 2011

The Candle burns at Both ends

Smoking....please don't.

The peer group, its the way it is, the experimentation, the adult stylie, the cigarette burns fast, the cancer is slow, the package warning is for reading in regret..... years later.

They are young, they will do what they or their girlfriend want. The cigarette burns and the candle of life burns at the other end.

The other end I will face, athritic, bed ridden, dribbling, incoherent in parts, a burden on a global society maybe, 5 minutes off that life..... is it worth the "cool" ....the popularity.....the centre of the western universe gravitates to teen .

But I am chasing "cool" as I am wearing t-shirts like a mutton. I am forcing an aging body to the rigours of youth in a fitness centre that can be reclassified as a middle age chamber of pain, in order to achieve what my teenagers have already. And the mirror still says I am losing the battle but not weight, until the light switch allows me to return to the dream. I am looking to turn back the years to cool.

But still I say white lines don't do it.

Destiny Planning

I admit it, I had expectations from an age long gone, when walking ivolved a lot of falling, where the teenagers hardly could spell apple let alone University. Teenagers were toddlers and I was University dreaming. Now teenagers are teenagers and the kids may be alright, but are not exactly threatening to add a variant, a paradigm, a corollary of any scientific conundrum, or to put it another way, there is no challenge to Einstein in the Pryce household to adding the odd vowel or consonant to E=mc squared.

Perhaps I am pushing too hard, perhaps I am too pre-occupied with work to spend that 5 minutes helping that could save them an hour stressing. I want my teenagers to follow me, to spend 12/6 working in a 24/7 world. Am I doing things wrong.

Maybe E=Mc cubed is not worth the theorising in a mathematical world, maybe its I who needs the changing C=Me perhaps.

Friday, 11 February 2011

i need a tall hat

How dare he be taller than me.

I can accept evolution. I can accept survival of the fittest, I can accept the natural order of the world, but by darn there is an exception to my kindly demeanour, I ~Pa Pryce ~ am the tallest in this family. I am an adult, by all things decent in the modern world.

And by damn and all things patriarchical in the world order, he is taller than me with or without high heels. Albeit that hairgel is adding more spikes than an athlete's foot and exaggerating his prowess. But this neck crick is not going to go away.

I am the wearer of trousers in this house and trousers should not be worn without socks.

So there is one thing of this being taller malarchy, at least I get my socks back from Mr Hobbit.

Thursday, 3 February 2011

its a case of......growing old


In my day and age remembering the star with perfect cheekbones, perfectness in all, captured for eternity by a photograph, an icon and now some years later an orbituary with a latter-day foto that shows make-up has limitations.
It causes a pause in my daily 24~7~365~366 life, what is it all about this existence. A beauty once held as an icon, has gone. It reflects on my age.

There is a television obituary that a star of old has gone, the footage shows a wrinkly hobbling somewhere. I comment on an icon with an affection of knowing what once was, a sympathetic note aired to all and that all happened to be my teenagers. I sit recalling a personality that sparked, I remember an age where ambition was sparked and the fireworks soared to middle age. And now the night is darker. My teenagers see an old person. An unknown taking up minutes before the weather. And the old person is by sorts of teenage measurement a reflection me.

An icon to the teenagers has to be under 18 and sport a ridiculous hairstyle. My icons do not connect with the teenage mind. I talk of cheekbones, she talks of wrinkles. I talk of a spark they see the ashes. I talk of the spirit of the age, they talk of the spirit of their age.

I am growing old.